


From One Craftsman to Another

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrimbor receives an unexpected guest, with a proposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From One Craftsman to Another

Celebrimbor shrugged off his dusty, travel-stained cloak, and removed his riding gloves with a sigh of relief. His trip to Khazad-dûm been a short, relatively uneventful one. Narvi had wanted his opinion on an alloy he had been developing, which had indeed proved to be both tough and beautiful. Celebrimbor thought perhaps there was room for improvement, and left with a promise to look into the matter. But it was certainly good to be home. And he really did think of Eregion as home now, he realised with a slight sense of surprise. But when that had happened, he could not say.

He stood still, just inside the door, listening to the sounds of the household for a moment. Suddenly a voice broke into his thoughts.

“Master! You have returned!”

It was one of his young apprentices, a hard-working boy who’s father had been a Noldo, and a good friend of Celebrimbor’s. There was a slight catch in his voice, a hint of something that Celebrimbor could not quite identify.

“Indeed I have. I trust that nothing disastrous has occurred in my absence?”

The boy looked uncomfortably at his feet, shuffling backwards and forwards as if unsure of how to answer.

“There’s… there’s someone here to see you. I went into your study and he was just… there. Said he was an old friend of yours, and had arranged to see you. But I’ve never seen him around here before, and no one even saw him come in. No one seems to know who he is or how he got here. I checked.” The boy stared up at him, a little breathless. Celebrimbor frowned slightly, but showed no other outward sign of the vague sense of unease he felt at these words.

“Then I shall have to go and see what he wants. Thank you.” He left the child standing, nonplussed, in the hallway, and made his way to the suite of rooms behind the house where he spent most of his waking hours, that contained the forge, his adjoining workshop, and his study. He opened the study door to find a figure with its back to him, hooded and cloaked in nondescript grey, apparently examining something on his writing desk. For a moment Celebrimbor had the odd sense of being an intruder in his own room. He quickly dismissed the notion, and spoke to the figure, a little more brusquely than he had intended.

“Well? Who may you be? And how did you get in here unnoticed?”

The figure turned slowly, lowering its hood. When he saw the face, he caught his breath. He looked like a elf - superficially at least - although certainly not of the Noldor, or any other group that Celebrimbor could put a name to. Loose red-gold hair framed a pale, angular face. But those eyes… they were the colour of amber, and – was it his imagination? – they seemed to shift and change as he looked. As a whole, his face conveyed a sense of otherness, and some quality that could not quite be defined. The stranger was smiling pleasantly. He was tastefully dressed in what looked like rather expensive fabrics, but the only colour he wore was a discrete grey. He wore no gloves, and his hands, Celebrimbor couldn’t help but notice, were roughened and calloused in a similar pattern to his own. A craftsman of some sort then? Perhaps. When the stranger spoke, his voice was unexpectedly light and musical, with the merest hint of an accent that Celebrimbor could not quite place.

“Lord Celebrimbor. It is an honour to meet you at last. I am called Annatar.” He bowed low. Celebrimbor regarded him carefully. He noticed that this Annatar had not answered his second question.

“Annatar?” he asked, scepticism creeping into his voice. “Is that your true name?”

“It depends on what you mean by that. If you mean to ask whether it is the name I have had since I came into this world, I should have to say no. But unless I am very much mistaken, you do not go by your birth-name either, my Lord _Tyelperinquar_?”

“In truth, no one has called me by that name in a long while.” He spoke evenly, trying to keep his voice as flat and neutral as he could.

“Well, I am a very old friend of your family.”

Celebrimbor did not care for the implications of this, but made up his mind to consider them later.

“Then you must know that I renounced my family long ago.”

“And yet, you still use the emblem of the house of Fëanor. What is one to assume by that?”

The question hung in the air between them, unanswered. Annatar spoke lightly, and as he did so he pulled out a small object from under his cloak and offered it to Celebrimbor, who took it. It was his own seal from his writing desk, a trace of red wax still imprinted onto the lines of the eight-pointed star. He turned it over in his hands. Celebrimbor spoke suddenly.

“Who are you? And why are you here?”

“I am simply a craftsman. And I came here to seek the last of the line of Fëanor, and to present him with a gift. And a proposition.”

“Go on.”

But Annatar did not speak. Instead he drew out another small object from beneath his cloak. He handed it to Celebrimbor, who inspected it. It was a golden ring, set with a lustrous green gemstone. The band was laced with intricate, curling designs. The metal seemed strangely warm, and the gold had a slight copper sheen as if washed with blood. Celebrimbor had to stifle a gasp. The craftsmanship was the greatest he had seen since… well, since that of his father, maybe even his grandfather. The thought was an uncomfortable one. He looked up.

“You made this?”

Annatar ignored the question, but simply smiled. After a few moments he started to speak.

“What if,” he said, pacing with cat-like tread across the room, “one could distill power into, say, a small object like this ring? What about knowledge? Or one’s very fëa itself? Would that not be…” he licked his lips “…an _intriguing_ possibility?”

“I have heard this sort of rhetoric before,” said Celebrimbor slowly, “from my grandfather.”

“Ah, of course!” Annatar was smiling. “But the difference is, Fëanor made the mistake of letting his creations rule him. He put too much of himself into the Silmarils, and they destroyed him in the end. But if hehad been the one in control… I cannot help but think that things would have turned out differently. He could have achieved true greatness.”

Celebrimbor wondered what that meant. But before he could ask, Annatar spoke again.

“You have always lived in your father’s shadow, and he in the shadow of his father. Am I not right?”

Celebrimbor felt a flash of anger. That had touched too close to his pride, but he would not let Annatar see this, would not be manipulated this easily. But Annatar seemed to read something in his face, and immediately changed direction.

“Eregion is very beautiful at this time of year. You have achieved a lot here.”

“Thank you. It has been my primary project these last years” said Celebrimbor stiffly.

“And yet, it will fall. Sooner or later, some evil will come upon it, and your beautiful city, everything you have built up from nothing, will come to destruction. But you can save it-”

“Morgoth was vanquished long ago…” Celebrimbor trailed off. He could not keep the question out of his voice.

“Morgoth? Yes. But are you really so naïve as to think that there is no other force out there that can bring about your destruction? There will always be evil, as long as there is good. It creeps through the cracks in the edges of the world. And that is not even considering the effects of mischance, or the pride and stupidity of ordinary people. And it may not come soon, but believe me when I say, the end will find you and your little fortress. But you have a chance.” He spread his hands, palms outwards. “I am your chance.”

Celebrimbor’s lip curled. “Are you threatening me?”

Annatar sighed heavily. “I did so fear that you might see it that way. Rest assured, that was not my intention. I wish only for a happy and productive collaboration, between two craftsmen of like mind.”

Celebrimbor did not let his guard down. He knew this Annatar was more than he seemed, although exactly what he was, he had little idea. He was also quite sure that Annatar cared little, if at all, for the fate of Eregion. But for some reason, the stranger wanted his help. Did that put him in the position of power here? Celebrimbor was dubious about that. But he realised, with a sickening certainty, the truth behind his words. Evil would come, and danger, and more death. Times were hard. He remembered the stories he had heard of Doriath. It had stood for so long, safe behind the girdle of Melian. But when the invisible band of power was removed… but no, he would not use that particular example, even to himself. There was too much pain there, for more reasons than one. The image of his father flashed unbidden into his mind. Annatar’s mention of him, casually, unexpectedly, had caught him off guard.

He took a deep, steadying breathe. “I think…” he hesitated. “Let me consider your offer. I may be willing to come to some sort of agreement. An exchange of ideas, perhaps. In the meantime, this is yours.”

He made to give back the ring, but Annatar quickly pushed his hand away, clasping it in his own, curling Celebrimbor’s fingers around the metal.

“Keep it. Think of it as… a gift. The first of many, I hope, and a token of my goodwill to you and your people. It has no special power, but it is beautiful, is it not?”

And it was. Celebrimbor forced himself to smile. “Indeed it is. My thanks.” He opened the door for his guest with perfect composure.

Annatar inclined his head. “Until we meet again.”


End file.
